


One Last Time

by Bellflower



Category: Samurai Warriors
Genre: M/M, Sekigahara Exchange 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 11:13:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8283863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellflower/pseuds/Bellflower
Summary: Years passed, comrades moved on, Japan settled into its peace and countless children were born and raised without any memories of war... but he always saw the petals when they came, always remembered. Always found a day as close to the anniversary of Sekigahara as he could to take a trip on his own.For the twitter-ran Sekigahara Exchange 2016, hopefully the first of many. Kindly beta'd by distantsonority!





	

It was impossible to avoid the time when summer ended; when wind cooled the air and the camellia started to bloom. Takatora never missed the emergence of those blood-red flowers. Years passed, comrades moved on, Japan settled into its peace and countless children were born and raised without any memories of war... but he always saw the petals when they came, always remembered. Always found a day as close to the anniversary of Sekigahara as he could to take a trip on his own.

Three decades after that battle took place, a very old Takatora scowled at the bushes in the grounds of his home and tucked his long scarf tighter around his neck. He wasn't actually irritated or angry in any way; the expression came naturally when he was thoughtful, and on this particular anniversary he had good reason to be. A certain kind of restlessness had settled in over the past month and he knew what it meant, knew what was coming. During his lifetime he had built up a reputation as a survivor, a man who could shoulder any injury and push forward acting like it didn't matter, but there was one thing Takatora was most certainly not: an immortal.

This year's visit to his oldest friend would be his last.

The people of his household had long ago learned not to try and dissuade him from the journey except when official matters needed attending to, and this time was no exception, but there was plenty of concern in their expressions and words when they saw Takatora off. Takatora did not offer them any kind of reassurance because, well, their concerns were well-founded. It _was_ a particularly cold autumn, and yes, his aged and battered body did ache and burn and suffer all too easily lately, and of course, it would be a wiser option to allow some of his family to accompany him this time. But none of that mattered. His day beneath the camellia, sat at the beautiful grave Takatora had crafted himself, was a private affair and absolutely nobody but himself and Yoshi... the one he'd lost had a right to be a part of it. 

(Still that name would not pass from his lips, even as it echoed in Takatora's mind with every beat of his heart; it was one step too far, somehow, a line he could not cross without ripping open too much of what he'd buried inside).

The journey there was thankfully quiet and uneventful, punctuated only by the peaceful atmosphere that still felt strange to him. Certainly not bad, of course; it was how it should be, the realisation of Lord Nagamasa's dream through the victories of Lord Ieyasu and thus Takatora's own dream come true. But Takatora had always felt a little disconnected to it on a personal level, like it wasn't his to enjoy, which was of course ridiculous. Yet there was reason behind that feeling. Reason he'd locked away from his thoughts after Sekigahara and never allowed himself to revisit.

“...hey.”

Maybe he was imagining it, but the flowers blooming here seemed more vividly red in comparison to the others he'd seen; Takatora's gaze roamed over them for a few moments before he slowly settled on the grass and reached out to touch the stone of the grave. 

“You probably thought I wouldn't make it this time, that fate was against me. You're not wrong, idiot, but I made it anyway.” Closing his eyes, he pictured his friend's face. A white cloth covering the mouth, but beautiful eyes filled with humour that made it clear it was hiding a smile. “Not even the flow can keep me from your side at this time of year.”

' _Not ever_.' The unspoken thought was a lie, really; Takatora sighed and dropped his hand. The parting had been one full of understanding, without bad feeling, and for the sake of their separate dreams, but there has always been a part of him that had regretted that it had to be that way. A part of him that hadn't understood how that man, that beautiful being he'd held and touched and adored countless times, could accept the end in such a calm and contented manner. 'Dying at the hands of a dear friend... it would be a good death.' He'd said that years before Sekigahara, as if he'd known exactly what would unfold way before it did. 

Blood on his blade, his friend at his feet, tears falling hard enough to wash much of the blood from his cheeks; the single worst goddamn moment of Takatora's life. 

A moment he'd never truly dealt with. Just hidden, closed up inside of his heart.

“...Yoshitsugu.”

Not anymore.

The name fell from his mouth for the first time in thirty years, flowing out far too quickly to be stopped, and with that step taken there was no way to keep it back. The weary, lonely and heartbroken old man finally cried again, digging his hands into the soil he'd laid atop Yoshitsugu's wrapped body and letting the tears fall unimpeded. It hurt, it was painful, every sob stung more than any blade that had ever cut through his skin; grief at its strongest was worse than any physical injury by far. 

“It shouldn't have been that way... but... it was...” He wiped his eyes after a good long time, raising his head just enough to gaze at the grey stone. “And I did as you said. I've lived well and lived long, Yoshitsugu, and fulfilled my dream. Done my duty. The Tokugawa will reign for many generations, and my heirs will support them. This land will be at peace... you can see it, right? You were always able to see everything as it was, see everything that was coming; too goddamn clever for a fool.”

Going to the grave with this still unsaid, still heavy in his chest, though? That would be the absolute worst pain of all. Takatora was not the most superstitious of men but he had heard many whispers about great burdens keeping souls bound to the earth, sometimes even turned into youkai, and he was not about to chance an existence after death that didn't involve his golden haired father-figure, gentle mother-figure, or, well... him. The one he bowed before now, talked to, reached out to at the end of his journey.

“Yoshitsugu? I'm tired now. It's been thirty years to the day since Sekigahara, thirty years without you, and I'm fool enough myself to have never stopped missing your inappropriate sense of humour or infuriating mention of the flow every five minutes. You might be calling me an idiot right now for all I know, but I don't care. I've done what I needed to do. I'm coming for you soon.”

 _The love of his life_. There was no use denying that anymore, no use pretending what he'd felt was anything less strong. He'd loved Yoshitsugu since they were young, when all they'd really had was each other, and it had never gone away. Even now, when he fell asleep and the dreams came, half of the good ones were about their intimate times together. Takatora's loyal heart would simply not stop grasping onto the red string

“And the first thing... the first thing I'm going to do when I see you again? Punch you for what you put me through. I'm sure the flow will tell you that you deserve it.”

Takatora sat up again, shifting both hands this time and running his scarred fingers across the grave (well, the fingers he had left). It was strange, really, but even though the tears were still falling and he felt utterly terrible? He managed a faint smile. He could picture Yoshitsugu smiling back at him, facecloth now discarded and hand raised as if to slap Takatora, because really, that was far more likely to happen even _if_ Yoshitsugu deserved the hit. And somehow this image was heartwarming in every way!

People had always called Yoshitsugu strange during his lifetime, but Takatora he knew he was just as bad in that respect, and this really proved it.

“Wait for me here so I can get that done before I move on... and... well, you're going to make fun of me for never saying this properly, Yoshitsugu...”

Camellia petals fell around him, the light broke through the grey clouds, and for a moment, Takatora thought he was passing on there and then. It was an illusion, of course, but the breeze against his cheeks almost felt like a familiar and much beloved touch. His smile widened, the tears fell harder, and he rose his gaze to the sky.

Today, finally, he would leave the memory of Sekigahara behind.

“I love you.”

An eternal afterlife of memories awaited.

**Author's Note:**

> The real-life Toudou Takatora died just over two weeks after the 30th anniversary of Sekigahara.


End file.
